


Uneven Footing

by Dreadful Weather Today (TearoomSaloon)



Series: Trinkets [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Dark, Drabble, F/M, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/Dreadful%20Weather%20Today
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kept cutting her feet, cutting them deep on the devil's teeth. He tangled her so tight in his web she would never get out in anything but pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uneven Footing

**Author's Note:**

> Darkfic drabble because wow let's have some darkfic.

It stung like bees in the summer, when she’d run off into the meadow and stepped on a hornet’s nest, venomous stingers pricking through the tough soles of her childhood feet. Her father had scooped her up and raced her to the hospital, driving like the jaws of hell were opening under the car. It was a blessing she wasn’t allergic, the doctor said, else she could have died from the toxins. She couldn’t walk right for weeks afterword, the summer of her sixth year spent rolling around on the floor.

It stung like the glass that got lodged in her foot when she was eleven, late for tennis practice and not paying attention. She stepped right where the vase had shattered yesterday and felt the fire scream up her leg on contact. This time she puffed out her chest and told the doctor she would get better quickly, determined not to give up on her lessons. She put the shard in a jar and stared it down every morning until she could run as well as before.

It stung like the nail that dug through her boots when she helped remodel the house. Her mother had nearly fallen from the ladder when she swore loudly, dropping her pencil and T-square. She was old enough to drive herself this time, rolling her eyes and biting her cheeks when they extracted the metal torture device, grateful it wasn’t a screw.

It stung like the bouquet of roses she stepped on in anger, thorns shooting through her bare feet. The bastard had deserved this more than her, she was sure, but she sucked it up and marched downstairs to the ER, holding up her bloody flip-flops to indicate she needed bandages  _now_.

She was walking over a field of broken bones, blood soaking her feet, staining the yellowed bones red. Solid ground was a foreign concept, even ground, more so. His hands were at her waist, clawed fingers cutting ruby facets into her bare flesh. Teeth on her neck made a necklace of wounds, the lips owning those teeth pouring darkness into her ears with the voice of the heavens. His body felt safe against hers when she ignored the thorns puncturing her skin.

He walked on firm earth behind her, hoofs clicking on stones. His paws slipped over her hipbones and down her thighs, making little red patterns. They played about under her navel and she wouldn’t let him hear her whimper. He made her kneel beside him when they reached his throne in the ossiferous depths.

It stung when he kissed her, when she stood naked before him. It stung like a thousand arrowheads had ripped her heart from her warm chest and he had taken it from where it was pinned to the wall, fangs sinking deep into the raw, fibrous, stringy tissues. It stung when he whispered in the tongue of the stars that he loved her, he loved her, oh did he love her while he buried the seeds of his darkness deep inside her virtue.


End file.
